Bending
by 4persephone
Summary: MovieVerse Ficlet. The gentle journey from here to there.


They break from their old patterns at different points. For her it's the third time she comes to the office and finds him asleep on the living room couch with neither a blanket nor a pillow. There are drops of blood scattered over the carpet from the basement up to the living room, and they are too deep set for her to lift with a scrub brush or a simple bottle of cleaner. She knows that it's not the first or most serious injury he's received since he put on the suit, but it doesn't change the way that the bruises seem to speak quiet mockeries to her along the lines of his skin.

She comes to work the next day with a suitcase full of clothes. He's working in the basement and so he misses the fact that she's started the process of moving in.

She has always been there, so he scarcely notices at first. He works in his labs most mornings and spends the afternoons doing whatever in hell he wants in his office unless she directly harasses him to do otherwise. She never knows from day to day what meetings he will actually attend and which ones he'll blow off, but she keeps the calendar on track either way. Over recent months she's actually developed a ready made system of second appointment requests and carefully worded generic apologies. She knows it's ironic, but her life had gotten easier since he became Iron Man and announced it to the press...

All she ever has to do these days is tell people Tony's out on another one of his 'missions.' CNN will then supply all the details.

It takes Tony almost three weeks to finally notice she'd not just there working late. He figures it out one early morning when he comes upstairs at three am. He finds her making muffins in his kitchen wiping down the countertop as he pads through with uncovered feet. "A little late for this don't you think? When did you become Martha Stewart?" She ignores his snarking in favor of digging out the butter from the fridge, and pouring herself a tall glass of milk. He rakes his gaze from her head to her toes, finally noticing the fuzzy socks that cover her ankles. She's wearing a simple pair of sweatpants and her old college sweatshirt, and certainly none of it is work appropriate.

His eyes narrow as his brain starts to work at the puzzle that she's just presented him, but all he does is steal six of her ten blueberry crumbles and tell her they need to order more milk in the morning.

They never talk about any of it, which might just be why it works. Direct confrontation is usually enough to make her skitter backwards, no matter how much she dislikes admitting it. A part of her is left to wonder why he doesn't demand to know what she's doing, but the most of her is too relieved to do anything but continue. He's too curious to ask what's caused the change and she's too stubborn to rock the boat. They are both reluctant to endanger what seems to be a silent agreement about whatever it is they're becoming.

She works till six most evenings, than makes them both dinner. On the nights he goes out on the town she simply wraps the leftovers and puts them down in his shop in case he returns and needs a midnight snack. She's there and she patches him up after most of his missions. There are no more blood stains on the living room carpet. Six months pass without a word, and they are officially cohabitating. She gives up her apartment and he has her room redone to something more in her tastes - deep purples and greens.

His personal habits otherwise don't change a bit, at least far as anyone can see. He snipes at her when she brings him his morning paper and spends half an hour every day in the weight room, working on the resistance machines. She buys him Ben Gay and starts bring him cold packs when she knows the pain is making it difficult for him to sleep. Some days she comes down and even works out on the mats beside him. He's sore a lot these days...struggling to maintain what he claims is his manly physique when half the time he's limited by strains, cuts and bruises.

They fall in to particular patterns that somehow are eerie and comforting.

Of course some things do change in subtle manners. Some Fridays she doesn't put on a suit at all if they don't have any scheduled meetings. One night after a particularly bad flood in China he comes up from the basement after two hours of silence, and forces her to beat him at six games of Parcheesi. Tony Stark doesn't like games he can't master or situations he can't fix, but he likes giving up even less.

One night she admits one night, that she used to be a painter but that she had to give it up when it didn't pay the rent or put any groceries on her table. The next week she comes upstairs to find a hand welded easel in one corner.

Tony still works long hours in the basement but on occasion he also hauls himself up the stairs, usually to take away whatever book she's trying to read at the moment in order to subject her to long and hideously over-rated hours of British daytime TV. After the third weekend in a row of this torture she puts her foot down and forces him to watch twelve straight hours of the Muppets.

Change of course is inevitable: though they break from their patterns at different points. For him it's not so much the day he lets her stay as the day he makes his own move. She doesn't know what causes his decision, and of course she'll probably never ask.

One night she gets up to say goodnight and go to her room like she always does. He gets up and follows her inside to the bed that is waiting without asking her permission.

She tastes like popcorn and whiskey and salt when they finally kiss, along with other possibilities. 


End file.
